THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE. O SCENE of enchantment! O vision of bliss! What Paradisaical glory is this! A garden! a garden! O rapturous sight! More stately in beauty, more rich in delight, Than any the Muse, in her leafiest hour, Has fabled of golden Hesperian bower, Or Fortunate Islands, or fields where the blest In Elysium's sylvan beatitudes rest. Lovely or rare, none can compare With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair! Well, well may its flow'rets thus brightly expand, Lovely or rare, none can compare With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair! What odorous incense upsprings from the sod, Which has lately been press'd by the foot of its God! What fragrance Sabæan the zephyrs exhale, Where celestial breath has been left on the gale! Behold! how the fruits deeply blush, where the sun Has stamp'd his first kiss upon every one! And hark! how the birds in sweet choral accord, Send their voices' first offerings up to the Lord! With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair! No solace is wanting, no charms that dispense A rival delight to the soul and the sense; It is blissful to quaff the nectareous air; And scent the rich breath of its flowery ground. With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair! The creatures now savage, not then beasts of prey, The elephant, twining his trunk round the boughs Makes the banquet of Nature a fellowship feast. Lovely or rare, none can compare With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair! 'Tis the garden of Eden, where joy, peace, and love, Join the creatures below to their Maker above. Behold! from yon verdant alcove, hand in hand, Of knowledge, whose fruit is forbidden. And see! Lovely or rare, none can compare With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair! O horror of horrors! the dark deed is done: They have tasted the fruit. Lo! the shuddering sun The tears of the angels bewailing man's doom, Shrieks of anguish are borne on the terrible blast. Fear and despair are on earth and in air, For thunder has ravaged that garden so fair. Degraded, ashamed, sinful Adam and Eve From its precincts are driven to toil and to grieve; Then earth gave a groan, a soul-harrowing sound, And thrill'd in her depths with a shudder profound, That wither'd each Paradise tree to its root, And shook down for ever and ever its fruit, And scatter'd the rivers,-till all was o'erthrown, That the site of the garden might never be known. And Record is all that is left, since the fall, Its exquisite beauties and bliss to recall. Then, then in the desert's profoundest abyss, Where the winds o'er the waste fiercely whistle and hiss, In the blackness of night, with convulsions and throes, Did Earth her sepulchral recesses unclose, And heave up a monster, the world to affright, Terrific of purpose, tremendous in might, Though his features to none might he ever reveal. Gladness and mirth fled from the earth, When that fearful invisible monster had birth. |